Prince of Bryanae (Bryanae Series) Page 18

  She glanced back at Snyde. “Hide behind those trees there,” she said.

  “Is there a point to me asking why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She looked back at the field, and sure enough, the five remaining assassins were running towards cover now. She found a stone and fired it. It missed by several feet. Damn!

  Once out of sight, the assassins remained hidden. Likely discussing what to do next. The game was up for them. But would they try to escape, try a suicidal charge at the soldiers in the valley, or try their luck against her?

  Probably the latter, Willow thought. If they could kill her without alerting the soldiers in the canyon, then they could still complete their mission.

  By the time they had reappeared, Willow had a nice selection of stones ready. One of the assassins waved to the others and they charged her, short swords drawn.

  She fired off three more volleys and killed two of them before they neared her. She tossed the ba aside and drew her rapier as the remaining three closed the distance.

  “You should have fled,” she muttered, as she faked a high lunge and then came up low, slicing the artery in one of the assassin’s inner arm. His sword fell from his grasp and he died in seconds.

  One of the two remaining assassins pulled back his hood to reveal a pale face with greasy black hair. Both kept their distances warily, trying to keep her at bay with their swords.

  She tried out a few lunges to see how they’d react, and sure enough, they fell back, refusing to let her engage. A slow smile began to spread across their faces.

  “I know why you’re grinning,” she said.

  “Par grah bar a?” replied the assassin who had removed his hood, not understanding her. It didn’t really matter.

  “You’re smiling because you think that I forgot that there were seven of you originally. You think I don’t realize that one of you is sneaking up behind me now.”

  She heard a scuffle behind her and the smiles fell from the faces of the assassins in front of her.

  “I got him, Willow,” said Snyde from behind her.

  Willow raised an eyebrow. “Last chance,” she said to her opponents.

  No such luck. They charged at her, enraged.

  She skewered one through the throat before he had taken his third step. She turned to engage the other one.

  He sliced at her and she parried, awaiting the right moment. He cut at her repeatedly, and then on his fourth cut, she made her move. Her rapier darted forward circled his sword and flung it from the assassin’s grasp.

  He started to charge her empty-handed, but encountered the point of her rapier at his throat. He froze.

  “Would you care to untie the rope from the ba, Snyde, and tie our guest up?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” he said.

  Chapter 46

  “They’re back!” exclaimed one of the Bryanae soldiers as Snyde and Willow entered the canyon carrying the body of the assassin. She had him by the arms and Snyde had him by the boots.

  The soldiers hadn’t moved an inch since she’d left. Considering Kard reinforcements could be arriving at any moment, their immobility struck Willow as spectacularly inept.

  When they reached the canyon floor, Willow shouldered the assassin, carried him into the midst of a cluster of soldiers, and dropped him at their feet. The bound and gagged assassin grunted in pain, shocking the nearby soldiers into chaos. Men shouted, and there came Tamlevar, bounding from Tee-Ri’s side to investigate. Throughout all this, Willow had watched, a single eyebrow arched. If their situation hadn’t been so dire, it would almost have been funny.

  “You came back,” Tamlevar said.

  “Yes,” she said without turning. “Good thing.”

  She kicked the assassin. He grunted and tried to inchworm out of kicking range. His arms were bound at the wrists and at the elbows, his legs at the knees and ankles. She had stuffed a wad of fabric from his cloak into his mouth, and tied a gag around that. She had completed the ensemble by tying shut his dark hood.

  “Assassins,” she said. “Seven of them approaching the canyon where I note you still remain. That’s odd, because I seem to remember warning you that more Kards were likely to arrive at some point.”

  Tamlevar’s expression was cool as ice, his stare judgmental and disapproving.

  “We could have handled them.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not the one who ran from here weeping like a baby.”

  Tamlevar’s attack struck home, but she masked her pain. At the same time, she registered the shock and horror in his eyes as he realized what he had said.

  “I’m …” he fumbled. His hands flailed uselessly. “I mean …”

  “Save it.” The daylight was gaining strength, and already flies were gathering on the corpses. Willow heard the distant grumbling of thunder promising a wretched day for all if the winds didn’t change.

  They had to get moving very soon.

  “Where’s Don-Lan?” she said, implicitly dismissing Tamlevar. The elf with the map case raised his hand and came running forward.

  “Good,” she said. Tamlevar sighed and fell back. “Don-Lan, I need you to plan our route from here. Find us an unlikely approach, and one that is free from likely ambushes. Captain Snyde, I want you to work with him on this. I do not want a repeat of this ambush, do you understand?”

  Snyde smiled unevenly at her, as though unsure whether to take it as a joke, an insult, or something else entirely. At length, he nodded.

  “Good. Now we have a number of long-term goals, all of which are essential.

  “Of greatest importance: Bryanae must be warned of the imminent danger of over one hundred thousand Kards.” Cries and murmurs of consternation from the humans filled the canyon. Willow silenced them with a gesture. “Yes, a hundred thousand. Bryanae must be warned, and warned in sufficient time to obtain support from her allies.

  “You,” she said pointing to one of the Bryanaen soldiers. “I want you to head back to the ship and instruct the captain to set sail back to Bryanae on my—scratch that, on Snyde’s orders. When you arrive, you are to deliver this message personally to either the Royal Mage or to the Queen herself. Do not trust intermediaries in this.”

  The soldier looked for confirmation from Snyde, who nodded. Without further word, the soldier began collecting his gear.

  “Next, Prince Vazerian of Bryanae is in the hands of the Kards; almost certainly, he is held by the Warlord himself, as Queen Tee-Ri can attest. In this regard, she must be carefully watched: not only because she is the elven queen, but because of the information she possesses about the Warlord’s fortress. You six”—she counted three elves and three humans—“keep close by her side. Make sure she doesn’t come to any harm.

  “I want you packed and ready to travel within two hours. That includes the burying of the bodies, and the tending of our prisoner’s wounds. I need him healthy enough for interrogation when we reach base. Their arrival was much sooner than I had anticipated and I want to know why.”

  With the exception of the soldier preparing for the voyage back to Bryanae, everyone else remained frozen, gawking.

  “Do any of you have a better plan?” she asked, her arms akimbo.

  Not a one spoke.

  “Very well, then get moving!”

  She stared at them collectively, daring them to resist her will. One by one, they broke down and moved to obey her orders. Eventually, only Tamlevar remained.

  “And what are you going to be doing?” he said.

  She sat down beside a rock and folded her cloak into a pillow. “Me? I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me in two hours.”

  Without waiting for a response, she lay down, closed her eyes, and was asleep before she knew it.

  Chapter 47

  Waeh-Loh stared down at her bare feet, amazed at how small they had become. Raising her gaze towards her knees, she saw that she wore a white sundress with textured floral patterns. She was elated: she had
thought that dress lost long ago.

  Her surroundings had changed, too. For as far as she could see, green hills rolled like a grassy sea. A cool breeze blew, and she lifted her face to meet it, smiled as it caressed her. She scrunched her toes into the grass, delighting in the texture of the blades and earth. Somewhere, far in the periphery of her consciousness, she understood that something was amiss, but this was inconsequential compared to her joy at being in the meadow.

  She began to walk but she soon realized that that was inadequate. She needed to run! So she did, and her hair blew free in the wind.

  She cried aloud, the happiness too great to be contained inside her tiny body. Yes, this was how life truly must be. That nagging sense of wrongness, that must be the dream; caused, no doubt, by the passing shadow of a cloud.

  She ran and ran, her joy boundless. The endless summer day continued in a timeless perfection.

  She climbed a hill with smooth stones dotting its side and as she neared the crest, she heard a snorting, snuffling sound on the other side. She was unafraid; in fact, she felt a giddy anticipation, suspecting that this lovely day had a pleasant surprise for her.

  Sure enough, when she crested the hill, she saw an animal trundling up the other side towards her. It was shaped roughly like a shovel with four legs: a pointed, indented horn at its snout, and a long, narrow body. It stood low to the ground, almost crawling, waddling towards her with four stubby, muscular legs.

  A broad smile broke out across Waeh-Loh’s face. A cordon! Oh, how long had it been since she had seen one? And then she caught the peculiar figure-eight swishing of its tail and realized that more than being just any old cordon, this was Pyto-Etha, her cordon.

  “Pyto-Etha!” she shouted, delighted to see her old friend. She noted that her voice was tinier, higher-pitched. No matter, because Pyto-Etha recognized her and he gave her his familiar affectionate grunts.

  She ran to her cordon and he ran to her, turning his pointed horn away from her as they met so as not to injure his dear mistress. They embraced.

  Now the day was perfect. She scratched along the base of his horn, and he snuffled and purred contentedly. They sat atop of the hill and gazed at the grassy fields blowing like thousands of waving arms.

  “I’m so happy,” Waeh-Loh said, feeling the magnitude of the understatement. Words could not truly express the joy, the contentment, the relief of not being that other woman, that bitter, lonely dream woman. How miserable that woman seemed. How wonderful it was not be her.

  Pyto-Etha grunted happily too, and then something wet dripped onto the back of her hand. She glanced at it and was alarmed to see a single red spot there. Blood!

  “What’s wrong, fellow?” she said, scratching his neck. “Did you cut yourself?”

  Another two drops of blood splattered onto the ground, and then a third. She searched the cordon’s face, but couldn’t find where the blood was coming from.

  “Where does it hurt? Come on, show Waeh-Loh.”

  Pyto-Etha whimpered once and then rolled onto his back. He rocked gently. His hairless white belly was at first smooth, but then she saw a wet red circle expanding in the middle of his chest.

  “Pyto-Etha!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet. She felt a helpless nausea swelling in her tummy and her limbs started to shake. “Wh-what’s wrong?!”

  The cordon began to rock more violently. His whimpers turned into whines and then into a feral, choking growl. Waeh-Loh retreated a step, torn equally between terror and sympathy.

  Another bloody circle appeared farther down his belly, and then a third. His body began to distend from within: a lump along the leg, another along his narrow cheek. A sweet-coppery tang filled the air.

  Pyto-Etha began to howl, a soul-wrenching sound that jarred Waeh-Loh to the very marrow of her bones. She swallowed back the rising bile.

  She retreated another handful of steps, and yet she still heard poor Pyto-Etha’s flesh tearing, the bones crunching and grinding. A bloody hole appeared in his side, and a finger protruded from it. Waeh-Low fell to the ground, her limbs paralyzed and numb.

  The finger felt about it for a moment and then set to enlarge the hole. At length, an entire hand emerged, and then a blonde-haired arm followed the hand.

  “No,” whispered Waeh-Loh, tears of terror streaming down her face. “No, please.”

  Two pale white legs sprouted from the cordon’s groin, and the monstrosity rocked itself up onto them, wobbling before her. Pyto-Etha’s neck ruptured and his face began to fragment. Beneath the flesh, Willow caught a glimpse of chalk-white teeth.

  She raised her hand to her chest and she felt her heart pounding. Dumbfounded, she stared at the atrocity before her, certain that she knew what the punch line of this grisly joke was going to be.

  “No,” she whispered, almost begging.

  The bloody hands reached up and peeled away the torn flesh from Pyto-Etha’s ruined face. Beneath it, a whiter, malevolent face was revealed. A pair of intense pale blue eyes stared out at her.

  “No,” she insisted. “That’s impossible. You’re dead!”

  The gleaming teeth smiled at her gently, the piercing pale blue eyes regarded her with tenderness.

  “Hello, Waeh-Loh.” The voice was a vulgar caress, the embrace of a pedophile, the compassionate façade of an opiate dealer.

  “No,” Waeh-Loh said, waving her arms.

  “Yes,” said the Warlord Rackal. He plucked at the remaining cordon flesh on his bare chest. “You’ve come home to me, dearest. I always knew that you would.”

  “No, this is impossible. You’re dead. I saw you die!”

  “I can never die, Waeh-Loh. You know that. I’ve been waiting for you all these years and now you’ve come home at last. Come home to me, dearest.”

  Smiling, the Warlord Rackal extended his bloody arms and walked to her. She was paralyzed, frozen with horror.

  “Come to me, Waeh-Loh,” he said, and his cold, bloody arms embraced her.

  “No!” She struggled against his arms but they were as strong as iron. “I saw you die! I saw you die! I saw you—”

  * * *

  “—die!”

  She fought at the arms that grabbed at her. Her hands reached for the knife in her boot, trying to fight against the foul embrace.

  “Willow, what’s the matter with you?”

  “I saw you die!” she shouted, and kneed him in the groin. She was rewarded with an agonized grunt and the arms around her went slack.

  Instantly, she drew her dagger and climbed onto him to finish him off.

  “Willow! It’s me: Eric!”

  Eric?

  She held him one-handed at arm’s length and regarded him. Snyde. Eric. Captain Snyde.

  “Snyde,” she said, confused.

  “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to call me Eric now and again. Seeing that …” He blushed. “Well, you know.”

  She climbed to her feet, aware now that her legs were numb and her feet tingling. Around her, elves and men were preparing to travel. Tamlevar was digging a pit. Tee-Ri stood beside him, a dainty hand on his shoulder. Everybody was quite pointedly not looking at her.

  “It was just a nightmare,” Snyde said, his voice soothing. He tried to put his arm around her, but she drew away. He shrugged and dropped his hand to his side. He looked about, giving her time to collect herself.

  “Yes. A dream.” She shook her head to clear it. Already, the anger was rising in her. She wasn’t a child. Dreams had no power over her.

  Yet still the dream haunted her.

  “I dreamed of my cordon,” she said.

  “Hmm?” Snyde said. His attention was focused on Tamlevar. Tee-Ri was whispering something into Tamlevar’s ear, a mischievous smile on her lips.

  “I wonder if there are any left,” she said.

  “Any what?” Snyde said without looking.

  Willow sighed. Her hands were still shaking. “Cordons. I wonder if there are any left.”

  “A few. Mostly they u
se them in the gladiatorial games.”

  Willow stared at Snyde for a few seconds. “And how do you know that, Snyde?”

  “Hmmm? What?” Snyde turned away from the spectacle of Tamlevar and Willow’s mother to return Willow’s look. “How do I know what?”

  Willow’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know that cordons are used in gladiatorial games?”

  “What?” Surprise turned to annoyance on his face. “Oh, stop being so damned suspicious of everybody, Willow. I know it because your mother told me.”

  “She told you about the games? Doesn’t seem likely.”

  “Stop it. She told me about you, Willow. Didn’t you own one as a pet once?”

  Tee-Ri had been talking about her. The thought sickened her.

  “Snyde …”

  “Eric.”

  “Snyde, what else did she say?”

  Snyde rolled his eyes. “What didn’t she say? Once she realized she was in no danger from us, she wouldn’t shut up. I know more about her wardrobe that I think I’ll ever need to know, should I live to be as old as a dozen elves!”

  “I meant what did she tell you about me.”

  “Oh, just stuff about you as a child. She really knows how to talk, your mother. I was half-tempted to gag her.” He returned his attention to Tamlevar and Tee-Ri. “Do you think there’s something going on between those two?”

  She followed his gaze and snorted. “If there is, it’s his own fault. It’s not as though I didn’t warn him about her.”

  Tee-Ri was teasing Tamlevar now, dancing around him playfully. The youth’s eyes were alight, and his smile was broad.

  “You really hate her, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She answered without hesitation.

  “Why, Willow?”

  “None of your business.”

  Now she couldn’t take her eyes off them, either. Her mother and Tamlevar. Willow couldn’t figure out whose betrayal hurt more.

  “He used to like you, but I don’t know anymore,” Snyde said. “Tamlevar, I mean.”